


two young savage things

by celaenos



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, One Shot, Road Trips, examinations of grief and anger and attraction or something like those three emotions, petrova dopplegangers are the best thing abt this wretched show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/pseuds/celaenos
Summary: She isn’t feeling much but sheremembersit all. Salvatores or no Salvatores, this might have always been her fate. Stefan told her once that this was all his fault, that he brought vampires and monsters into her life and felt guilty for it. Elena hadn’t scoffed at him for it then, but she would now, if he said it to her again.She’s a Petrova doppelgänger. Klaus was always going to come looking for her, one day. Katherine. Isobel. The Mikaelsons. This was in her blood centuries before Stefan goddamn Salvatore dug his way in. The arrogance of him, to presume that he had any control over her life whatsoever.





	two young savage things

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea what the fuck this is or what i want it to be.
> 
> i rewatched all 8 seasons bc i'm having a 'i-graduated-from-college-finally-and-don't-know-what-the-fuck-i'm-doing-with-my-life-sort-of-crisis' and the conclusion that i came to is the petrova dopplegangers are the only things that matter.

Elena burns her house to the ground and walks barefoot through the grass.

Damon and Stefan walk behind her, anxiety and worry wafting off of them. She can almost literally _smell_ it. Heightened senses, indeed. Elena promptly ignores them both. If she could feel anything right now, she’d feel relief and pain, all tangled up into one mass that digs into her chest—moving of its own volition.

She doesn’t say goodbye. She doesn’t care enough to bother with it and she knows they’d grab her and lock her up and beg her to flick her switch back on and love them both. Except that she doesn’t love either of them anymore. She might have, once upon a time.

But that feeling—along with pretty much all of the rest of them—is long gone now.

She staples a note to their front door, then steels Stefan’s car and drives past the Mystic Falls town line, a smile on her face as the highway spills out in front of her. 

_Don’t follow me._

…

…

Elena picks up a map, closes her eyes and spins around before planting her finger down onto the paper.

Reno, Nevada.

As good a place as any, and miles and miles away from Mystic Falls. Elena shrugs and pops back into the car, backseat full of shitty gas station food and belly full of the boy behind the counter’s blood. He waves at her, compelled, as she pulls out of the station with a smirk and turns the music as far up as it will go.

She leaves a trail of bodies in her wake, for two states. Mostly, because she wants to. Because she knows it might piss the Salvatores off.

Because she knows that it will leave a trail, but not for the Salvatores. Never for either of them ever again.

She drives, blasting the music and belting along, off-key and uncaring one bit. She isn’t feeling much but she _remembers_ it all. Salvatores or no Salvatores, this might have always been her fate. Stefan told her once that this was all his fault, that he brought vampires and monsters into her life and felt guilty for it. Elena hadn’t scoffed at him for it then, but she would now, if he said it to her again.

She’s a Petrova _doppelgänger._ Klaus was always going to come looking for her, one day. Katherine. Isobel. The Mikaelsons. This was in her blood centuries before Stefan goddamn Salvatore dug his way in. The arrogance of him, to presume that he had any control over her life whatsoever.

One way or another, this was always going to happen. This, or death. They were always her only options, whether she knew it at the time or not.

…

…

She finds her in Kansas.

“Found my breadcrumbs, then?” Elena says, face stuck in a diner menu and not bothering to look up as Katherine slinks down into the opposite bench of the booth.

“You’ve been busy,” Katherine drawls. If Elena gave a shit about any of it, she might think there was a hint of moral judgment or concern to her tone. As it is, she shrugs and snaps her menu shut.

“I’ll have the blueberry pancakes,” she says, once the waitress slides over with a pad and pen at the ready. “And orange juice.” Katherine scoffs. “Extra syrup and whipped cream, please,” Elena plasters on a thousand-watt smile and kicks Katherine—hard—underneath the table.

“And for your sister?” the waitress asks, turning to Katherine.

“Ugh,” she groans. “Not sister. Not even remotely.”

“Um…” the waitress clearly doesn’t know what to do with that information when presented with two women who share a face and claim not to be twins so she pulls her smile wide, uncomfortable, and pretends that she never heard the comment. “What can I get for you, hon?”

“Black coffee,” Katherine quips, keeping her eyes on Elena as she holds the menu back out to the woman. “So,” she drawls, sliding her finger along the top of the table. “Elena Gilbert, vampire. Flicked her switch and fucked off after burning her house down. I gotta say, I’m loving it a little.”

“You would,” Elena says, shrugging her shoulders and leaning back into the booth. Katherine watches her every move, clocking each and every minute detail to the letter. Elena is doing the same, so. Fair is fair, she supposes. “Why are you here?”

“Don’t play coy with _me,_ Elena,” Katherine drawls. Her finger is still making slow circles around the tabletop, the skin of it is flawless. Elena rubs a thumb against her matching finger, frustrated that she doesn’t want to look away. She does, the second that thought pops into her head.

Once—about a month or so after Elena had first learned about Katherine, first stood there shaking as Katherine slinked around her and postured, brushed her finger against Elena’s hair and neck while she shook as her world flipped on its axis—Elena had gone and stood in her bathroom and stared at her own face in the mirror for half an hour. She held up the photograph that Stefan had kept of Katherine, searching, hoping to find differences. But there was nothing, only the hair and the clothes. It was beyond unsettling. Elena taped the photograph up on the mirror, plugged in her curling iron and spent half an hour making perfect blown out spirals in her hair. It had taken some digging around in Aunt Jenna’s makeup to find the brightest, blood-red shade she could find and she meticulously painted it on her lips, dragging it out as long as she could.

Then, Elena had stared at herself in the mirror again, glancing back and forth between the photograph and her own reflection. Katherine had already pretended to be her, and people had believed it. Elena needed _something._ Something to make her feel like she wasn’t going crazy, to make her feel like herself. A person, not a copy. She’d taken a blade from her razor and made an inelegant cut, a jagged little scar on the top of her left thumb. Bright, painful, deep red. She’d hissed and panicked and instantly regretted it—it had been sore for days because she cut just a bit too deep. Stefan and Damon had both been idiots and tried to heal her multiple times once they noticed, but she shrugged them off, said things about cooking and kept it bandaged and low and out of their sight till it healed over. A jagged ugly pink thing that is hers and hers alone; a distinction of her. She was afraid that it would disappear once she turned. It was the first thing she checked, once she had a moment alone to breathe.

It had been disappearing. Elena had run to Bonnie and begged for a way to keep the scar on her skin. She hadn’t needed to explain. Bonnie worked quickly, fighting against the magic that was making Elena immortal and perfectly frozen in time.

It was a faded little white thing, but it was still there. She ran her thumbs together and she could feel the difference.

_A distinction of her._

She never told anyone. Not Stefan or Damon. Only Bonnie, and even then, not really.

She rubs her thumb and pointer finger together now, as Katherine pulls her own pointer finger around and around in circles on the table and watches her like a cat, ready to pounce.

“Playing coy?” she asks. “Whatever do you mean?” she pitches her voice low, adds a bit of a snarl, mimicking Katherine. Stealing her voice. Nightmare, turned back around. Katherine’s eyes flash, only for a single moment before they twinkle and she smirks.

“So, where are we going?”

“ _We?_ ”

Katherine shrugs.

 _“I_ am going to Reno.”

Katherine snorts and flounces backwards, arms crossing against her chest as she rolls her eyes. “Nevada is a cesspool of desert. Why on earth would you want to go there?”

Elena shrugs as the waitress brings over their orders. “Landed there on a map,” she admits. “Seemed far away. I’ve never been out of Virginia.”

“God, you really are a child,” Katherine laughs. If her switch wasn’t off, that comment would grate at her skin, as it is, Elena digs into her pancakes. “Well, I know a hotel that’s marginally acceptable there. I can show you as good a time as you’re bound to get.”

“Okay,” Elena agrees, shocking Katherine only marginally. It feels good.

Or, it feels like something.

…

…

Elena won’t let Katherine drive.

She is very petulant about the whole affair, if Elena had her humanity, she’d be delighted to produce this kind of discomfort in Katherine. As it is she’s just… sort of, numb.

It’s starting to not feel as amazing as it had at first. It had been an immediate relief. It had been an easy fix. One quick thought, one small switch and then freedom. It still is, but—

“Turn left up here,” Katherine orders. She’s got two maps out in front of her and sharpies tucking her hair back behind her ears. The image is almost adorable.

As if anyone would ever describe Katherine Pierce as adorable.

Elena turns. They walk into a lavish hotel and Katherine flounces down onto the (huge) bed with grace and agility that Elena would be jealous of, on a different day. She lands in a seductive pose, but Elena thinks that might just be her natural state.

There’s no one else here for miles that Katherine would want to seduce or impress. Elena drops her bag on the floor and starts pulling off her clothes, article by article as she walks towards the shower.

“Where are you going?” Katherine calls.

“I’m sweaty and gross,” Elena says.

“You’re a vampire now, darling. You don’t sweat. The glands don’t work when you’re dead.”

Elena shrugs, shirtless and turns the water on. “Maybe I just like it,” she says and slams the door shut in Katherine’s face.

…

…

If she had her humanity, Elena would be wondering what the hell she is planning to _do_ now. Where does she want to go? Why did she leave everyone behind? Why would she let _Katherine_ come along? What the fuck is in Reno, Nevada?

As it is, the water spills down her skin and it feels wonderful, and the only thought she has left inside her skull is when she gets to eat next.

…

…

They eat a lavish dinner.

When Elena steps out of the bathroom—sans towel—Katherine has laid out a slinky black dress on the bed for her and she’s lounging on the balcony, looking elegant in green.

It’s strange, to look at a person who bears your own face. Elena has sort of gotten used to it by now, Katherine has been around for a while but—it’s still strange. Elena pulls the dress down over her hips and tugs the zipper up at stares at herself in the mirror.

It’s hardly any different looking at her reflection than it is to look out on the balcony. Elena presses her pointer finger against the scar on her thumb. Katherine glances up, a slinky grin pulling onto her face. “Ready?”

Elena leaves her thumb alone, and steps into a pair of flats, following Katherine as she struts down the hall.

They compel the staff into a four-course meal free of charge, and Elena eats a decadent chocolate mousse and makes a noise usually reserved for the bedroom upon first bite. Katherine’s eyes remain on her the entire time, animated and beaming. Once they’re done, they head out and feed long into the night. Elena is delirious in the middle of a dance floor, blood dripping from her mouth, the music thrumming through her body, no Damon in sight.

Only a copy of herself, reflected back in green.

…

…

They only stay in Reno for a week. Each night is like the one before it, they wake sometime long after the day has dipped into evening, shower the previous night off of them, and go begin it all over again. 

It’s fun.

Until Katherine grows bored.

“God, let me show you somewhere _better,_ ” she hisses, rolling around on the ginormous bed they have been sharing. (Clearly, some dig that Katherine is trying to pull out of Elena. She’s growing more and more petulant the longer Elena doesn’t bite). “Reno is a cesspool. We could go to San Francisco. Paris. Rome. Prague. Berlin, fucking _anywhere._ You’ve never been out of Virginia, and _this_ is the first place you choose?”

“If you hate it, then you can leave,” Elena says, nonplussed.

Katherine prickles. Changes course. She starts talking about places that she’s been, feasts she’s indulged in, architecture, art, music. She doesn’t say _let’s go._ She doesn’t say, _this is boring._ She doesn’t say, _turn it back on._

But it’s what she means.

Elena doesn’t know why. Katherine has never given a shit about her, has never wanted her company, has wanted nothing more than to use her for her own gain. There’s surely something she is cooking up behind those pretty eyes, Elena just hasn’t worked it out yet.

She doesn’t care what it is, anymore. Katherine is fun, when she wants to be. She’s entertaining right now. That’s all Elena wants. She wants someone who doesn’t care.

Katherine shrugs her shoulders and grabs the lipstick from Elena’s hands and paints it on her own smirk. “I heard they’re making some fabulous lobster thing as tonight’s special,” she says, as she rolls off the bed. “I’ll meet you down there.”

Elena waits in the room after she’s gone. She sits down at the vanity and looks in the mirror, presses her finger against her thumb and feels something slip through in her mind. She grits her teeth and walks out of the room without a second thought.

…

…

They go to San Francisco in the morning.

Elena sleeps in the backseat as Katherine drives. When she wakes, she has no memory of agreeing to go, or of ever getting in the car. For a moment, there’s a glimmer of fury that slips back at the idea of Katherine making decisions for her, and then she presses it right back down to nothing.

“I want a burrito when we get there,” she says, leaning forward and snagging the bag of blood out of Katherine’s hand. “Also, if you kidnap me again, I’m gonna snap your neck.”

“Why?” Katherine taunts. “Mad?”

“Nope.” Elena sips the blood loudly and then lies back down. Katherine almost looks disappointed.

…

…

She gets sauce on her chin from the burrito.

Katherine reaches across the table and swipes it away, sucking it from her finger. She raises her eyebrows—a dare, boredom, who knows—then turns and stares out at the ocean. “Beautiful, yeah?”

It is, but she doesn’t say so.

…

…

Damon and Stefan come calling after they’ve had a week of decadence and debauchery in San Francisco, and they’ve moved on to Seattle. Katherine disappears before they show up and Elena makes no mention of her ever being there in the first place. She doesn’t owe either brother anything and she doesn’t care what they want or think.

Stefan pleads with her. Damon whines about love. Both of them stare at her longingly and it makes her skin itch. They corner her and take her ring and tie her up and throw vervain at her body and make grand decelerations about her humanity and compassion.

Elena jumps into the sunlight and laughs in their faces when they jump to save her without a second of hesitation. “You won’t hurt me,” she laughs. “This is useless.”

They try to get Katherine to do it. They think that she’ll hurt Elena enough, make her angry enough to turn the switch back on and come crawling back to them.

Instead, Elena grins at her as she slinks into the room, plants a kiss on her forehead, and cuts her binds. “Wanna go to Prague?”

“Why not?” Elena shrugs and grabs Katherine’s hand when she holds it out.

Stefan and Damon can rot for all she cares.

…

…

The thing about traveling with Katherine is that it’s _fun._ They look behind their backs quite often, for Klaus, for the Salvatores, for enemies that are mostly Katherine’s, but trouble has a nasty habit of following Elena, too.

Maybe it’s a Petrova curse.

Maybe it’s just a doppelgänger thing.

Maybe it’s just them. Elena doesn’t care anymore. (Except that she’s starting to, a little). She thought it was just a switch. On, or off. No in-betweens or middle ground.

But—

This feels like bits and pieces are starting to slip back in. Joy. Anger. Annoyance. Jealousy. _Delirious happiness._ Greif.

Arousal.

Disgust.

They all slip into her skull, unwanted and brief, before slipping back out into the relief of numbness once again. If Katherine notices, then she says nothing. She flits around, brings Elena humans to feed on, flaunts her sexual encounters, drapes herself all over Elena at dinner, in their hotel rooms, tugs her hand and pulls her along to country to country on a whim.

But she doesn’t beg Elena to switch it back on, even as it becomes obvious that it is what she wants Elena to do.

But she never tries to force it. She lets Elena do whatever she wants, whatever she needs. And it’s that realization, that makes Elena realize exactly why she picked Katherine to run away with.

…

…

They’re back in Prague when it happens.

It’s been half a year of dodging the Salvatores’ incessant phone calls. Caroline and Bonnie’s, too. Bits and pieces slip in and out of her skull and Elena presses them back down, down, down, until she doesn’t.

She knows in one slippery moment that her switch is flicked back. She’s sitting in a café in Old Town, a tourist trap, but she enjoys the ginger tea they make. Elena is looking out the window, and she sees a boy with brown hair who has a gait reminiscent of her brother, and she gasps. Everything floods back so quickly she can’t breathe, her chest is tight, she’s bent over, gasping and crying and the wait staff is panicking. The customers confused. Elena can’t breathe, can’t talk, can’t move.

And then Katherine is there.

They had split up for the afternoon, as they did often. Elena had no idea where she had gone, hadn’t thought about it, doesn’t know how she found her here now, but she clings to her. Which is embarrassing.

It _feels_ embarrassing.

And terrifying, and enraging, and painful, and everything is too loud, her chest too tight. Elena gasps for air and clings to Katherine as she carries her out of the Square and into a tiny closed alley. She puts Elena down and crouches in front of her and grabs her face with both hands. “Breathe,” she orders. “It comes back fast and painful. You’ve got to focus on one thing. One emotion. Pick one and ignore the rest for now.”

Elena looks up at her own face. “You killed Jeremy,” she hisses at Katherine, so close their lips nearly touch. _Anger._ An easy one to grasp, with her own twisted face looking back. Her fingernails dig into Katherine’s shoulders. She wants to make sure that the last thing Katherine ever sees is her own eyes, looking back.

It’s a stupid notion, really. The logical side of her knows that, of course, but the one that is fueled by emotion, by anger, isn’t being rational at all. Katherine is older than her, by centuries, and far stronger. She grips Elena in place tightly, a frown pinching at the corners of her lips. “Elena, I’m older than you,” she says, hint of condescension to her tone.

“You _killed_ my brother,” Elena spits.

“To be completely clear about the situation,” Katherine says, voice pitched low. “I pushed him into Slias’ hands. _Technically,_ he is the one who killed your baby brother-cousin. You got beef with a doppelgänger, maybe Stefan’s face is the one that you should be angry at.”

“ _You_ knew what he’d do. You did it.”

“Sure, fine. That’s true. I was only pointing out that if we wanna get real honest with things, technically I’m not the one who did the deed. Didn’t say your anger wasn’t justified.”

“I don’t need you to _justify_ it,” Elena screams and shoves Katherine away, slamming her into the building across from them. Katherine only smirks, enraging Elena further. She lunges at her and Katherine catches her, unable to control her laugh of delight. “I _hate_ you,” Elena screams. “You ruined my life. You took my birth mother away. You brought Klaus to Mystic Falls. Jenna is dead. John is dead. Jeremy is dead and all of it leads back to _you._ ” 

“I mean, again, if we want to get technical about things—”

“I DON’T,” Elena screams. “I WANT TO SMASH YOUR FACE.”

To her credit, Katherine tries very hard to stifle her laughter at the childish roar. Elena doesn’t feel like giving her any credit right now. She slams herself into Katherine, knocking her head against the wall again, and again. She’s not fighting back.

That’s more infuriating than anything else, somehow.

Elena slumps to the ground and presses her palms to her hands. Her thumb against her forehead. The difference between them. A distinction of her. She clings to it, instead of her anger. That emotion isn’t getting her anywhere right now, as much as she wants to succumb to it. Katherine waits a few moments and then crawls over slowly, crouching back in front of Elena a second time. She says nothing, merely waits Elena out until she has no tears left, until her mind is half-clear, half-delirious. She lifts her head up and meets Katherine’s gaze, her own eyes, boring back at her.

Caroline asked her once if she would have sex with her clone. If she thought that it counted as masturbation or narcissism or incest or something else entirely. They were thirteen and reading a sci-fi book intended for horny middle aged-straight women they found in the library. Tucked away in a corner, whispering and giggling and feeling like they were going to squirm out of their skin. Elena had told her it probably counted as masturbation and narcissism both, and said no, she would never. Thirteen and innocent and still a bit turned off by the idea of sex altogether and pretending otherwise to appear more grown-up. Caroline had agreed with both of her sentiments and tucked the book back on the shelf. They went and bought milkshakes and couldn’t look each other directly in the eyes for the rest of the afternoon. Neither of them ever told Bonnie, as far as Elena knows.

Her thirteen-year-old self would hate Elena for a lot of reasons, adding another notch to that list hardly seems noteworthy, in the moment. Emotions have been spilling out for weeks now, and the strongest have been anger and grief but another, far more annoying one has crept its way up too, as demanding as the women who produces it.

She feels a twinge of desire pluck at her belly, as distinct and painful as the snap of an elastic band against her skin and she surges forward, smashing her lips into Katherine’s. She tastes like the stupid deserts that are sold in Old Town Square. The ones tourists pay far too much for and are too stupid to know are Hungarian, not Czech. Katherine got a cinnamon one, with ice cream. Elena pulls back and pants against the wall, looking at Katherine in horror.

Her mouth twists slightly. It’s nothing like a smile. “Well, well, well,” she drawls. “Who knew you could still be fun with your humanity? Who knew you could act even _more_ debaucherously this way?” she laughs, a throaty giggle that does something horrible as Elena shifts and her clit _throbs._ Before she can say anything, think about it, change her mind or continue further, Katherine’s got Elena in her arms again and has run back to their hotel.

She pushes Elena down into their bed, but she doesn’t climb in with her. She hovers, waiting for a signal that Elena doesn’t know if she wants to give.

(She _does._ Desperately. But—)

Anger is a terrible reason to go to bed with someone, probably. Grief might be an even worse one. But when Elena climbs up off the bed and shucks her clothes off in one hurried motion, presses Katherine flush against the bathroom door, feels slim fingers digging into hips, blood-red lips leaving marks up and down Elena’s neck, she starts to understand the appeal. Katherine bites at her neck and drinks and Elena hisses, feeling a mixture of anger, grief, and arousal that’s confusing, to say the least. She pushes Katherine down into the bed, ripping her dress off her body and marveling at the ways that it is exactly like her own. That’s too complicated to think about right now, so Elena closes her eyes and lowers herself down on top of Katherine. It is less about grief, perhaps, than it is about an ousting of desire. Less about anger, more about two kindred spirits destined to perhaps meet once or twice before setting off on different paths, never to return. Probably to die.

She doesn’t think about death now, as Katherine trails kisses down her stomach, aggressive at first. Biting and feeding and pissing Elena off more than she already is. It’s when she gets about a third of the way down that her kisses turn to something almost gentle, maybe.

But nothing about Katherine is gentle, and there isn’t anything gentle about Elena anymore, either.

…

…

“Well, that was fun,” Katherine drawls.

Elena presses her finger against her thumb. Remembers loving Stefan. Loving Damon. Jenna. Bonnie. Jeremy. Caroline. Her parents.

She burnt down her house.

“Everyone I love is dead,” Elena whispers.

“Not true,” Katherine quips. “Bonnie is alive.”

“I never wanted to be this,” she says, firm.

“Yeah, I know,” Katherine says. There’s that gentleness to her tone again. Confusing as fuck and wholly unlike her. “But you are,” she adds. “So, suck it up.” And there’s the Katherine Pierce she knows and hates.

“I still very much hate you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” Katherine says, shrugging. Then suddenly she’s straddling Elena, pressing her down to the bed. “And let’s be clear, I still very much hate you, too.”

“Then why are you here? Why have you _been_ here? You don’t care about anyone but yourself and you hate me, so why have we been on a road trip for the last six months?”

“You’ve been listening to the Salvatores for far too long, little one.”

“What the fuck does that mea—”

“Just because I never cared about them enough, doesn’t mean I don’t care about anyone,” she snarls, almost shouts it. Or at least that's how it feels, when it comes out, all loud and angry, like the words are burning her throat. It shakes the space between them. Katherine’s whole body is trembling. “I had a child. A family. My whole world was taken away from me from Klaus Mikaelson because I have the face of someone he loved, once, and her mother used her blood to make some monsters. Sound familiar?”

“You _terrorized_ me and everyone I know.”

“Better you die, then I,” she says, echoing words Elena knows she has said before. For the first time, she understands them. A little.

“Better neither of us die,” she whispers.

Katherine shrugs. “Sure, fine. Whatever.” She flounces back down onto the bed and Elena watches her. She doesn’t know what happens now. They’ve crossed some line that they can never go back on. Not just this afternoon, this entire ridiculous road trip. Elena _burnt her house._

“I don’t want to go back,” she admits, quiet.

“You don’t have to,” Katherine says. Now she sounds bored. Maybe Elena with her humanity back isn’t someone Katherine wants to be around. It’s painful that the realization makes her chest clench at the thought of being left behind. All of this is so fucking annoying and confusing. Elena doesn’t want to think about it anymore. She doesn’t want to contemplate the rest of her life: forever eighteen, a dead thing walking. A copy of a girl who grew hardened from five centuries of running to survive. The two of them copies still.

Elena closes her eyes and presses her finger to her thumb. “Have you ever been to Ireland?” she asks.

“Sure,” Katherine says, a small smirk etching at her lips.

“My mom always wanted to go there.”

“I know a café by the sea that makes ginger tea better than your place here,” Katherine says.

It sounds like an offer. Elena doesn’t want to plan out her next century of existence. She is certainly not going to spend it with Katherine Pierce, but, for now, she presses her finger to her thumb, stares at the mirror of her own face looking back at her, and says: “Sounds great.”


End file.
